


Serve and Protect

by Cleo the Muse (cleothemuse)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bromance, Families of Choice, Gen, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleothemuse/pseuds/Cleo%20the%20Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I promised your Ma and Sister Mary-Anne that I'd do whatever it took to take care of you. Used to be, that meant hanging around and watching your back. This time, it means going away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serve and Protect

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky was a Sergeant at the start of Captain America, which is not a rank you get just by signing up. So, Bucky must have been in the Army for quite some time already, and of course my brabbits decided to help me figure out when (and why) he enlisted.
> 
> Totally unbetaed not just because I'm new to this fandom, but 'cause I'm just too damn impatient *bg*

"I moved all my things to your place, pal. Figured there was room enough for me to bunk on that ratty old sofa of yours, and there's no reason to be paying rent on two apartments instead of just one... and we rub on well enough, right? Hell, we had less space than that at Saint Vincent's."

Bucky swallowed, look down at his feverish friend, and pressed on. "So, anyway, you were right about the coming war... Japs hit Pearl Harbor yesterday, sank a bunch of ships, killed a lot of good men and women. Morning papers are already callin' for us to enter the war. President's supposed to give a speech this afternoon, and then Washington'll vote. Don't imagine they'll say no."

"Good news is, I kinda jumped the gun. See, they're saying now that just about anyone who enlists from today on will be off to the front lines as soon as they've cleared boot camp, unless you already have some special skill they need elsewhere. But me? Well, I told you about Old Man McLafferty cutting me loose 'cause I was spending so much time here... So on Friday, I went to the recruitment office and signed my name."

Steve's glazed eyes cracked open, and his lips moved as though to say something. Fortunately, he didn't waste the air actually making a sound, and the iron lung continued to whoosh steadily on.

Bucky hated the sight of the big metal tube—it looked too much like a coffin—but it was the only chance Steve had left after his bad reaction to the medicine. In late October, the frail man had caught cold and never shaken it, and by the time (the newly official date of) Thanksgiving rolled around, Steve was in the hospital with wheezy, fluid-filled lungs. And if that wasn't enough to turn Bucky's hair prematurely gray, Steve turned out to be allergic to the fancy medicine supposed to help fight off the pneumonia, and broke out in hives.

Having long-since promised Sister Mary-Anne and Steve's dead mother that he'd do whatever it took to protect Steve, Bucky had begged, pleaded, and cajoled the doctor until finally they'd stuck Steve inside a machine that was helping him breathe when his own body was too exhausted to keep going. Every few hours, the nurses had Bucky turn the bellows off and take Steve out, then coax the smaller man into trying to inhale deeply and cough up gunk while Bucky massaged his chest and back. The first time a nurse had done it, Steve had blushed so brightly his hives had looked pale.

It was slow, and Steve was always worn out, but the doctor said it was working. However, with Steve too sick to work and Bucky having just lost his job, their money—which had never been plentiful anyway—was running out.

"I head off for training this Friday to Fort Dix, so I ain't going far. And yeah, it's Jersey, but we can't all be picky, right?"

Steve's lips quirked in a smile. "Nobody'll mistake you... for a Jersey boy... Buck."

"Yeah, you neither, pal," Bucky grinned, ruffling his friend's hair. "So anyway, like I said, I'm leaving Friday, so you're just going to have to get better soon, or you'll be getting the hands-on treatment from the nurses here... and hey, maybe one of 'em'll take a shine to your scrawny ass."

"They won't even look... at me twice so long as... you're here."

"Good thing I'm leaving then, huh?" Bucky teased. "But anyway, here's the part you gotta understand: I talked to the landlord, told him what was going on, and showed him my enlistment form. I worked it out already so that my pay from the Army is going to go straight to your bank book, so you use that to help pay the rent and whatever else you need until you can get back to work."

Steve started to protest, but Bucky held up his hand. "Ah! None of that, Steve, it ain't charity when it's between family, and you and I are the only family the other's got left. Now, Mister Fitzhugh said your job was still there, waitin' on you to get well enough to pick up a pencil again, so if you won't take any money from me after you get back to work, that's up to you."

"Bucky..."

The bigger man leaned over and brushed a damp clump of hair from Steve's overly-warm forehead. "I know we always used to say that if we enlisted, we'd do it together, but you're just not well enough to even try right now. I promised your Ma and Sister Mary-Anne that I'd do whatever it took to take care of you. Used to be, that meant hanging around and watching your back. This time, it means going away."

"You'll write, won't you?"

He smiled, glad Steve wasn't going to waste breath protesting something he couldn't change. "Yeah, buddy, I'll write. As soon as they'll let me, just to let you know how things are going."

"And you'll visit?"

"Whenever I get leave. All my stuff's at your place now anyway, remember?"

"Jerk."

Bucky grinned at the friendly jab. "Punk."

Steve's eyelids fluttered shut.  "Don't win the war 'til I get there."

**Author's Note:**

> From the 1930s throughout World War II, sulfa drugs were the magical "cure-all" for any infection. Unfortunately, about 3% of the general population are allergic to sulfa (including yours truly). Iron lungs, though generally associated with polio, are an early form of respirator, and while I have no medical training whatsoever, I would imagine the negative pressure of the machine would be beneficial in keeping a frail body breathing.


End file.
